Market Street

by Anita Hughes

  “She’s an old school friend,” Cassie mumbled.

  “Emily Burrows’s daughter has all the latest gadgets.” Diana sat opposite her, propping her foot on a silk pillow. “Emily says she gets daily tweets announcing new arrivals at Fenton’s.”

  “It’s very effective,” Cassie replied nervously.

  “I told you I’m a big fan of young energy. Emily showed me Fenton’s Facebook page: five hundred friends the first week. We should have implemented these ideas months ago.” Diana picked up her teacup and sipped the tea thoughtfully. “It’s time for a change in leadership.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassie dropped two sugar cubes in her tea.

  “Derek has done a divine job for thirty years, but he’s as dated as an avocado refrigerator. We need a new store manager who understands online networking.” Diana placed her cup on the white porcelain tray. “I’d like to offer her the job permanently.”

  “Permanently?” Cassie choked on her tea.

  “I’ll give Derek a new title, something that keeps him behind the scenes. I can’t go to the store quite yet, so please bring her here so I can offer her the job in person.” Diana leaned back on the love seat. “Tell me about her, I’m dying to hear.”

  Cassie studied yellow tulips in the crystal vase on the coffee table. “Alexis is the store manager.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Carter is never here and Alexis was dying of boredom. She has amazing fashion sense. Every woman that comes into Fenton’s leaves dressed exactly like her. And she knows everyone. Her cell phone is a Rolodex of San Francisco society.”

  “Alexis is running my store,” Diana repeated slowly.

  “I thought it was just temporary. You were going to be back in two weeks.” Cassie looked past her mother at the skyline of San Francisco.

  “Alexis! The girl who stole my Ferragamos and wore them to her Girl Scout meeting?”

  “She was ten years old, and she always admired your taste in shoes.”

  “She was a dance major in college.” Diana shook her head.

  “At UCLA. You said she’s doing a wonderful job!” Cassie protested.

  Diana leaned forward and rearranged the tulips. She tapped her cane on the marble floor and inspected her French manicure.

  “Numbers don’t lie. The spring collections are being snapped up like hotcakes.” Diana plucked a dead petal. “Alexis always had a ‘nose’ for fashion, but does she have the work ethic?”

  “She runs Fenton’s like a military academy.” Cassie walked to the window. She could see the stone spirals of Grace Cathedral, and the flags flying outside the Mark Hopkins. “The department managers call her the ‘colonel.’”

  “Good.” Diana nodded decisively. “Bring her for tea tomorrow afternoon.” Diana eyed Cassie carefully. “You look very well, that dress suits you.”

  “We’re almost ready for the opening.” Cassie’s eyes sparkled. “James built a wall of green bookshelves. I’m going to showcase cookbooks signed by local authors.”

  “How does Aidan feel about your long hours?” Diana asked curiously.

  “He’s going to Italy next week. His paper has been accepted at a conference.” Cassie played with the linen napkin.

  “You’re not going with him?” Diana raised an eyebrow. “I can’t see Aidan agreeing to that.”

  “He wasn’t happy,” Cassie conceded, “but I’ve put so much time into the emporium. I couldn’t miss the grand opening.”

  “It’s time you developed a little backbone. It can only improve your marriage.”

  “My marriage is fine.” Cassie kept her eyes on her teacup. She hadn’t told her mother she was still staying with Alexis.

  “If only Dr. Jasper would let me go back to work. I’ve read Vogue, W, and Town and Country. I’ve caught up on my invitations and planned a month of menus.” Diana tapped her French nails on the glass.

  “Don’t worry, Mother.” Cassie smiled. “Everyone at Fenton’s misses you too.”

  * * *

  When Cassie walked into Alexis’s kitchen, Alexis was scraping the bottom of a fondue pot. She had been eating like a linebacker: ribs and mashed potatoes, sirloin steak in mushroom gravy, but her body was lean and sinewy as a ballerina.

  “Pia made fondue, I was so hungry I ate the whole pot. The women in my dog obedience class stopped by Fenton’s. They bought those divine Prada loafers that are comfy as Keds.” Alexis licked the yellow cheese. “We should have a pooch department: sell Burberry dog collars and tiny plaid sweaters.”

  “Poodles goes to obedience school?” Cassie helped herself to spinach salad and a French baguette.

  “It’s good for him to socialize with other dogs. I’ve met so many women,” Alexis replied. “Dog training is the new Pilates.”

  “My mother summoned me to her apartment.” Cassie poured a glass of lemonade.

  “That sounds ominous. How is she?”

  “Fluttering around like a bird with a broken wing.” Cassie paused to eat a forkful of salad. “She’s very pleased with your numbers.”

  “My numbers?”

  “You’ve created quite a buzz. In fact”—Cassie sprinkled Hawaiian sea salt on the salad—“she wants to offer you the position permanently.”

  “April Fool’s Day is over.” Alexis laughed.

  “I’m serious, she was very impressed.”

  “Your mother has never liked me. She’s still angry we played dress up with her couture gowns when we were six years old,” Alexis replied.

  “You played dress up,” Cassie corrected. “I watered her plants with my plastic watering can.”

  “They were fake plants.” Alexis laughed. “You ruined her wood floor.”

  “She’s going to give Derek a new title and make you store manager.” Cassie buttered a baguette. “If you want the job.”

  “Of course I want the job!” Alexis opened the freezer and took out a carton of ice cream. “I haven’t had this much fun since Barbie summer camp.”

  “Great, we’re supposed to have tea with her tomorrow afternoon.”

  Alexis scooped ice cream into a bowl and drizzled it with chocolate syrup. “What am I going to tell Carter?”

  “You found a job that makes you happy and keeps you from running up his credit cards?”

  “We’ve gone over this. Carter wants me to run up his credit cards. He’ll be satisfied when stores give me royal treatment, like Katie Holmes or Posh Spice.”

  “Maybe you two should go to couples counseling when he gets back.” Cassie ate a spoonful of Alexis’s ice cream.

  “Says the woman who is living here, instead of with her husband in her own home.”

  Cassie put the spoon down so it clattered on the tabletop.

  “I didn’t mean that, Cassie,” Alexis apologized. “I can’t imagine being in your shoes.”

  “I keep thinking I should fly to Italy with Aidan.” Cassie’s eyes filled with tears. “I love working at Fenton’s, but when I curl up in bed my whole body misses Aidan. I lie in the dark and picture Molly Payne. It’s like attending a séance.”

  “Being in love is worse than having the common cold.” Alexis pushed the bowl away. “You can’t avoid it and there’s no cure. That’s why they invented ice cream.”

  * * *

  They moved into the home theater and settled down to a chick-flick marathon: The Devil Wears Prada, Confessions of a Shopaholic, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  “I could watch Audrey Hepburn all day.” Alexis spun around in her bucket seat. “She’s a modern Scarlett O’Hara without the southern accent.”

  “Did you ever read Gone with the Wind?” Cassie giggled.

  “She wears those fabulous hats and men fawn all over her.” Alexis wound her hair into a ponytail. “I have an idea!” She jumped up, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll pretend I’m going shopping. I’ll charge a few things to Carter’s credit card every day. I’ll even run over to Neiman’s during lunch and charge things there too, so he won’t
get suspicious.”

  “You’re going to pretend you’re shopping every day.” Cassie shook her head. “Wouldn’t it be easier to tell Carter the truth?”

  “I’ll tell him eventually.” Alexis paced up and down in front of the screen. “And it’ll be good for Fenton’s. I’ll buy some big-ticket items like the Louis Vuitton spring satchel with the pink and green logos.”

  “You have to stop lying to your husband.” Cassie slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under the chair. Suddenly she was very tired. Her calves ached and her eyelids drooped.

  “The first rule to a happy marriage is tell men what they want to hear,” Alexis countered.

  “I’m going to bed.” Cassie pulled herself up. “I should have become a nun.”

  13.

  The morning of the grand opening, Cassie woke up feeling calm and confident. It was a beautiful spring day. The trees were bursting with cherry blossoms and the bay sparkled like a magic carpet. She decided to swim forty laps before going to Fenton’s, so her mind was clear and ready for the evening.

  Since Aidan left for Europe, she had devoted herself to the emporium. The murals looked breathtaking. Axel had created a carpet of red roses and carnations that cascaded down the staircase. Guests would be greeted with balls of caviar and flutes of pink champagne.

  Cassie checked her phone. Aidan had been sending texts all morning: “eating tiramisu, wish I could spoon-feed you,” and “hotel bed too big, need you beside me.” Cassie smiled and put the phone on the bedside table.

  * * *

  The day Aidan left for Italy had been a disaster. He had insisted she take the day off and drive him to the airport. Cassie hadn’t seen Aidan since the dinner at Green’s, and felt the familiar sexual pull that started in the pit of her stomach.

  She had dressed in jeans and a low-cut T-shirt. She had climbed into the Prius, and adjusted her Victoria’s Secret bra. She had decided it wouldn’t hurt to send Aidan off with a groping session in the short-term parking at SFO.

  The battery in her Prius had died as she was approaching the Bay Bridge. At first she thought the other cars were driving too fast. Then she had realized she was barely moving and the Prius glided quietly to a stop. Cassie had turned the key in the ignition, helplessly checking Aidan’s impatient texts.

  Eventually she had called Aidan and told him she was stuck. She heard him yelling over the phone, but cars were honking and she had to hang up to wave down the tow truck. Aidan hadn’t texted her again until he was boarding the plane. Cassie had read two terse lines: “Isabel gave me ride. See you when I return.”

  When she had finally arrived back at Alexis’s house, she ran upstairs and climbed into bed. She had closed her eyes and pictured snuggling against Aidan in the airport lounge, sharing a travel-sized Scotch and bag of pretzels. She had tried to think about the red balloons she had ordered for the grand opening. But she couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking. She had buried her face in the pillow and cried.

  The next morning Cassie had gone to work wrapped in a deep lethargy. She had moved papers around her desk, she made phone calls to suppliers, she answered James’s questions. But all she could see was Aidan arriving at the Rome airport, his leather jacket tossed over his arm, his black hair baking under the Italian sun. She had imagined him sitting at an outdoor café, watching boys and girls zoom by on Vespas.

  She was at her desk, placing an order for cage-free eggs, when she received Aidan’s first text. He had never been one to text for anything other than utilitarian reasons. Years ago, she had tried sending him fun, flirtatious texts but he told her it distracted him from his lectures.

  Cassie had checked her phone, still flinching from her failure to get him to the airport. The text read, “Ciao, bella! Rome cries without you and so do I.” Cassie had picked up the phone and read it again. She was about to reply when he sent another: “No Mona Lisa is as beautiful as my glorious Cassie.”

  Cassie had pushed back her chair and run up the stairs to the first floor. She had found Alexis at the sunglass counter and handed her the phone.

  Alexis had put down the Oliver Peoples sunglasses she had been admiring. “Do you have an Italian boyfriend you’re not telling me about? Some gigolo that wears a gold cross and black leather pants?”

  “James Franco is your fantasy.” Cassie took the phone back. “These texts are from Aidan.”

  “I thought he was furious at you for not providing cab service yesterday.” Alexis had grabbed the phone as another text popped up. She had read it quickly and handed the phone to Cassie. “Stop him before it gets X-rated. You’ll fry your eyes.”

  “Aidan has never sent me a text other than ‘I’m making pizza, please buy tomatoes.’” Cassie read the text and blushed.

  Alexis had tried on a pair of aviator frames and studied her reflection in the mirror. “Either he got drunk on the plane or he’s trying to tell you he misses you.”

  “It’s not like him. I don’t know how to respond.” Cassie had held the phone as if it was an unexploded grenade.

  “You’ve been through hell, this will be good for you.” Alexis tried on a pair of tortoiseshell Armanis. “Pretend Aidan’s your European lover. Turn the heat up. When he comes home, you can both forget everything else that happened.”

  Cassie had studied Alexis in the mirror. “How do you have time to watch afternoon TV?” She slipped her phone in her pocket and took the escalator down to the emporium.

  * * *

  Cassie received texts from Aidan every day. Sometimes they were romantic. Often they were so hot she read them in the bathroom so no one would see her blush. She carried her phone in her purse like a pair of silk underwear, and felt a thrill of anticipation each time it rang. She replied with sexy texts that made her giggle when she sent them. The days until the grand opening flew by and Cassie worked with a secret smile on her face, racing the clock to get everything ready.

  * * *

  Cassie pulled into Fenton’s parking garage and checked her makeup in the mirror. She wore thick mascara, a sparkly bronzer, and pale pink lipstick. She wanted to look young and sophisticated, serious but with a playful side. She had chosen to wear a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and a diamond Tiffany necklace.

  In two hours, San Francisco’s top tiers of society would gather for the unveiling of Fenton’s food emporium. Cassie had signed each invitation and sealed them with red wax. The opening had been tweeted about by the Chronicle, San Francisco magazine, 7x7, and Town & Country. The mayor was expected to attend and Wolfgang Puck was flying up from Los Angeles.

  Cassie walked through the revolving door and stood at the top of the escalator. She looked down at the basement, feeling like Cinderella arriving at the ball. A sea of red balloons hovered at the ceiling and the walls were draped with red velvet. The murals were lit from behind and made the room look as if it were full of people laughing and mingling.

  Cassie walked down the staircase, trying to take it all in. The marble pedestals borrowed from the Legion of Honor were topped with vases of red roses. In the corner the band had set up their instruments. There was a long bar with bottles of wine, champagne, and a dozen different liqueurs.

  Every surface was covered with food. Oranges and melons were arranged on one counter; avocados, asparagus, and leeks on another; and brussels sprouts, artichokes, fennel on a third. Fresh apple and rhubarb pies were displayed on ceramic plates. Oysters and jumbo prawns sat in buckets of ice. Cassie could smell fresh bread baking in the oven. She saw glass jars full of coffee beans and smelled the scent of freshly ground coffee.

  “You look lovely.” James walked up the stairs to greet her. He wore a navy suit with a red tie and red silk suspenders. His hair flopped over one eye and his glasses peeked out of his suit pocket.

  Cassie blushed. “I thought you were blind without your glasses.”

  “I’m wearing my contacts”—he patted his suit—“these are back-up. Are you ready to greet five hundred of San Francisco’s e
lite?”

  “I’m so nervous.” Cassie walked down the staircase. “I lay awake thinking what catastrophe might happen. Tony Bennett will forget the lyrics or the caterer will serve bad fish and everyone will get food poisoning.”

  “I doubt Tony Bennett is going to forget the words to ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco,’ but we do have a small problem.” James followed her down the stairs.

  “Oh, God, what did we forget?”

  “Miles Cavendish got stung by a bee and is on his way to the emergency room. He’s allergic. He said he was swelling up like a watermelon.”

  “The poor guy; I’m sorry he’ll miss the opening.” Cassie straightened a line of champagne flutes.

  “His neighbor took him to the hospital. Our cake is sitting on his kitchen table.” James shifted from foot to foot.

  “Our cheesecake isn’t here.” Cassie froze. The cake was going to be the room’s centerpiece. After Tony Bennett sang and the balloons dropped, Cassie and her mother would cut the cake and the archbishop would bless the emporium.

  “His back door is open; we’re going to have to get it.”

  “Now?” Cassie checked her watch. “We’ll never make it back in time. He lives in the Castro. And the cake is six feet tall! It’s not going to fit in my Prius.”

  “Do we know anyone with a truck?” James asked.

  “We’ll ask Alexis if we can use her Range Rover.” Cassie thought of all the hours she spent designing the cake with Miles. “The cake comes in two sections. We can each hold one and she can drive.”

  * * *

  Cassie found Alexis in a dressing room with Princess Giselle. Giselle was draped in yards of silver chiffon and Alexis circled around her, her mouth full of pins.

  “Cassie, you remember Princess Giselle? Giselle’s social calendar filled up and she needs a dozen new gowns. I explained everyone in San Francisco buys couture. One wouldn’t want to wear the same dress as Samantha Traina to the Black and White Ball.” Alexis adjusted the chiffon over Giselle’s shoulder.

  “We have a little situation,” Cassie whispered.

  Alexis saw the panic in Cassie’s eyes and turned calmly to Giselle. “I’ll have Kitty bring you champagne and truffles. Try not to move, we don’t want to disturb these perfect lines.”